


In Memoriam

by HunterusHeroicus



Series: Chair Lift Fanfiction [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Sherlock, Discussion of rape/non-con, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:49:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterusHeroicus/pseuds/HunterusHeroicus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft pays a visit, and John gets some answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Memoriam

When John got back to the flat, his head was still spinning from his conversation with Lestrade. Sherlock was in the kitchen, doing something with the fingers he'd brought home earlier that week. John began to make tea, ignoring the sounds sizzling and the smell of cooked meat emanating from Sherlock's corner of the room.

"Uh, Sherlock?" John said.

"Mm.." Sherlock muttered absently. John heard a bottle clink, followed by more sizzling, but he was determined not to look.

"I talked, with Lestrade, about what happened with Moriarty."

"Completely unnecessary." John heard Sherlock set down whatever he was doing, and he knew Sherlock was listening to him. He turned, pointedly not looking at the experiment.

"I was worried. About you."

Sherlock sighed, irritation marring his features for a second before he stared directly at John. 

"A nice sentiment," he said. "But again... unnecessary."

"Sherlock," John said, deciding subtlety would get him nowhere. "Have you ever been sexually assaulted?"

For several long moments there was silence. Then Sherlock turned back to his experiment. 

"John," he said. "I need you to go to Tesco's and get me some cooking oil." 

John raised an eyebrow. "We've got a can in the cupboard. Are you going to answer my question?"

"Wrong brand." Sherlock said flatly, fiddling with the dial on his Bunsen burner. "And no." He handed John a list of items. "Fetch me these too, while you're at it."

John glanced at the list, and had to look again.

"Sherlock, he said carefully, "why do you need a meat thermometer?"

"The explanation would only confuse you," Sherlock replied.

 

John sighed, but took the list and went to get his coat.

***

John was walking out of Tesco when he saw the car. Sleek and black, it sat at the corner. As he got closer, the door opened.

"Hello, Anthea."

She glanced up from her phone. "I've been sent to fetch you."

Resigned, John climbed in, setting his shopping on the floor between his legs. The car started with a subtle purr, and the car glided smoothly away from the curb.

"So," said John, glancing at over to where Anthea was absorbed in her phone. "What does Mycroft want with me this time?"

"To talk," she replied.

John shuffled his feet uncomfortably, then turned to peer out the tinted window. The glass was so dark that he had trouble seeing outside.

When the car finally stopped, they seemed to be outside some sort of embassy. John was led through a side door, then up several flights of stairs. They opened to an opulent hallway, and he was told to wait inside a small but comfortable room. Just when John was beginning to think they'd forgotten him, the door opened once more.

"Sorry about the delay," Mycroft said. "There were problems with the US - well, you don't need to know." 

Mycroft showed no signs of sitting, so John stood. He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, waiting to see what Mycroft wanted.

"Now," said Mycroft, "the reason that I have taken the time out of my incredibly busy day to meet with you is this; you have a right to know the parts of Sherlock's past that affect you." Mycroft slipped a hand into his suit jacket, pulling out a file. "In this file are details, including a police report, on my brother's sexual assault." Mycroft wrinkled his nose. "He was most displeased to learn they had gotten involved, and was altogether unhelpful."

"Of course he was," John muttered. He stared at the file in Mycroft's hand, and was surprised when the man offered it to him.

"Go on," Mycroft said, when John made no move to take it from him.

"No," said John. "I don't think I will. Thanks, but I'd like to hear it from him."

"It will not be easy," Mycroft replied dryly. "My brother is obstinate, I'm sure you've noticed."

"I don't want to find out from a file," John insisted. "Sherlock is my best friend. He deserves more than that."

"How admirable," Mycroft said. He seemed amused by Johns decision. "Very well. Ask him about university, and Victor Trevor."

***

John was dropped off outside of 221B, and it was only when he'd walked all the way upstairs that he realized he'd forgotten the shopping. 

"Sherlock?" He called, pushing open the door and shrugging off his coat. "You in?"

"Yes, you really need to be faster. I had to borrow Mrs Hudson's."

"Borrow her what?" John asked, brow furrowed. He walked through to the kitchen, where he could hear movement. I "Her meat thermometer." Sherlock said, sighing as though it was obvious. "If you could hand me that... oh. So, how is Mycroft?"

"How did you know I... you know what? Never mind."

Sherlock stared at him intently. "He told you." 

"Yes," admitted John. "Had a file prepared and everything. But," he said, watching Sherlock closely, "I told him I'd rather hear it from you." 

He stepped closer to Sherlock, pulling him away from his test tubes. 

"My experiment..." Sherlock began mulishly.

"Can wait." John told him. He took a deep breath. "Sherlock, what happened at uni? What happened with Victor Trevor?"

Sherlock remained silent for a long while. When he spoke, it was halting, with an edge of pain that made John wince.

"Victor and I were roommates, at university. My romantic attraction towards him was mutual, his sexual attraction towards myself was not."

John was suddenly cold all over, like he'd been plunged into ice water. He was finding it hard to breathe.

"Sherlock," he said. "What... what happened?"

Sherlock's shoulders hunched, and he refused to meet John's eyes as he answered.

"When I told him that I was incapable of sexual attraction, to anyone, he got... upset. Corrective rape, I believe they call it." Sherlock stared at the ground, posture rigid. He was shaking slightly.

"Oh," John reached out towards Sherlock, only to have the man neatly step away before he could touch him. 

"I'm not, I didn't..." John stammered.

Sherlock looked at him then. "I know," he replied.


End file.
